


Cleopatra

by solitarysister



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Actor Will, Alternate Universe, Director/Writer Hannibal, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Unbeta'd
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-19
Updated: 2016-06-19
Packaged: 2018-06-09 11:28:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6904021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solitarysister/pseuds/solitarysister
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will is a taxi driver and aspiring actor. Hannibal works in the film industry. They meet by chance. Heartache ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _Inspired by the Lumineers song_

He looked like something out of film noir. Silhouette of a man, leaned up against his taxi just out of reach of the streetlamps. Smoldering cigarette in one hand, he took a drag and let his head fall back to breathe out the smoke. There wasn't any traffic, pedestrian or otherwise. No one was looking for a ride and he wasn't looking for a customer. He was just killing time until his shift was done.

Footsteps echoed off the dark, dead houses. The world was asleep except for these two men. This one, approaching, looked like he was in the wrong zip code. Dressed to the nines without irony or occasion, he stuck out like sore thumb. But his presence was deliberate and greeted with a grin.

"Didn't think I'd be seeing you again so soon." Will called, tossing his cigarette to the pavement only to reach for the pack to replace it a moment later.  

Hannibal sped up at the sound of his voice. "I couldn't help myself."

"But all the way down here? For you this is practically the slums."

"I've been all over the city, actually. Hunting you down." His hair was a blonde flash in the split seconds he passed under the lamps, his features hollowed with shadows. He looked like death approaching, a skull in a finely tailored suit. "You're more elusive than I thought."

"Sorry to put you out." Will offered the cigarette. "I'm hardly worth the trouble."

Hannibal ignored it and instead wrapped himself around Will. He put his weight into it, pressing them against the cab so that he'd have the leverage he needed for a kiss deeper than was decent. Will took with a nonchalant grace, eye closed, body slack except for the hand holding up that cigarette. As they separated he tapped the ashes loose and offered it again. This time it was accepted.

"So," Will tugged the other man's lapels lightly, "now that you've found me."

"Do you have plans?"

"Surprisingly, yes. I'm celebrating. It's going to be a party of one, the best alcohol the gas station has to offer and a warm bath." With a hand on Hannibal's wrist, he guided the cigarette to his mouth.

"Room for one more?"

"That's not how we usually do things."  

"Is that a no?"

"If you think you can stand a night away from the finer things, you're more than welcome."

Hannibal kissed him again, softer, sweeter. It felt like a thank you and had something in Will's chest swelling. He hoped it didn't show in his face. Suddenly they were standing too close. Thrusting his hips out, he put some space between them. Hannibal stumbled and Will pulled open the driver side door.

"Meter's running." The engine roared to life. "I will leave without you."

Hyper aware of each other in the close quarters of the car, neither managed to think of a thing to say. Despite their clumsiness at a normal night, one that went beyond backseat fucking and sweet nothings, there was a special kind of silence between them. One that didn't need to be filled with useless words.

When Hannibal did speak Will nearly jumped.

"If there's a special occasion perhaps we could stop somewhere for dinner. My treat."

"Only if I get to pick the place."

*

The sign in the windshield proclaimed _BEST DOGS, CHEAP POP_. The look of skepticism Hannibal gave it made Will laugh. It was his favorite food truck and he was enough of a regular that its employees recognized him. The boy in the back waved happily as Will tugged Hannibal into the short line that was curling up onto the sidewalk.

"Heard you got the part. Lucky fucker." The man working the cash register grinned. "Everything for you and your man here is on the house."

"I'll take my usual and . . . " Will scanned the menu. "He'll have the number four."

"I'll double the fries if you give me a light."

Will fished out a his lighter along with a ten for the tip jar. "Thanks, Ni."

And again Hannibal allowed himself to be guided down the sandy sidewalk to a bench. They settled on opposite ends, food between them.

Will's regular was two Italian sausages with more onions and ketchup than Hannibal could fathom necessary. A number four was a burger that looked like something off a steak house menu, dripping with grease and cheese. A few fries were wedged soggy between the tomato and lettuce.

This wasn't their first meal together. Once Hannibal had decidedly taken a liking to Will he'd brought him food. He hadn't even realized he was doing it at first. He'd simply packed a second sandwich, ordered an extra bowl of soup to go from his favorite place uptown. It wasn't until he slipped into a taxi and someone other than Will was sitting behind the wheel that he realized the intention behind his actions. Rather than crush it he nurtured the fixation. He made calls to the cab company claiming he'd forgotten his phone in Will's taxi. Soon the excuses were foregone altogether and he simply requested Will as his driver, meals for two in tow when the cab arrived.

But this was their first meal outside the usual habitat. Hannibal wasn't sure if he'd ever seen Will out from behind the wheel, ever seen him standing. Those times when Will was slipping into the backseat, was lying beside him with a cigarette to be shared, those didn't count. They were blurred like a surrealist daydream, absent of rational thought.

Will was shorter than he'd thought, smaller overall. The perfect height for Hannibal to tuck his chin atop his head were they to embrace. Their kiss earlier, it'd felt natural. As if they'd done it a hundred times before. Never like that, they'd never done it like that. They were so new, still practically acquaintances. Yet every first felt like a reflex, like a well-learned action branded into his cerebellum. Muscle memory.

"You never told me you were an actor."

"Didn't think to." Will shrugged.

"Not even when I mentioned my involvement in the film industry?"

"I thought it might make things awkward." He shrugged again. "It's just a small theater production. Nothing major."

"What role will you be playing?"

His sudden awkwardness gave way to coy shyness. "How about I show you later? I'm supposed to be practicing my makeup anyway."

Hannibal only nodded, careful not to be too enthusiastic.

"Do you have a boat?"

"A boat?"

"Yeah. You're rich. It's plausible you'd have a boat. Do you?"

A shake of the head. "The sea was never my fancy. In place of beach houses and yachts I have cabins. Might be something to do with my father. He used to take me hunting."

"Mine took me fishing."

"And your mother?"

"Never knew her. My dad always used to say his life came down to a birth and a divorce. I was the better of the two."

"Where is he now?"

"Dead. Last month."

"My condolences."

"Thanks." Will bit his lip. "Now I've got nowhere to go. No way back, no family. No plans."

Hannibal took a sip of soda that tasted more like the Styrofoam cup and swallowed thickly. His mind was making itself up. He touched his pants pocket, unnoticed. The little box inside felt hot against his skin.

*

"I'm rethinking this." Will sounded small, calling out. "You'll laugh."

"Never."

The earnestness in Hannibal's voice was almost as bad as the expression he'd been wearing all night. Will couldn't ignore it. Still he tried, checking himself in the mirror again.

He felt self conscious about his living quarters. The bathroom and kitchen were cramped, the size of the average closet. Hannibal was out there in the room that served as both a living room and bedroom. He looked out of place, his expensive clothes mockingly juxtaposed. Still he moved as if it were his home, too, comfortably sinking to the center of Will's sad, little bed and agreeing to wait. _Take all the time you need._

Will stepped out from the safety and privacy of the bathroom to find him scooted back against the wall. His shoes had been slipped off, jacket laid aside. As undressed as Will had seen him, their times together usually beginning and ending fully clothed, the bare minimum bared.

Even better was the shedding of his mask. Hannibal let Will witness his honest reaction, his usual stoicism left at the apartment's threshold. Eyes widened, mouth agape, _that expression_  glazing his eyes. Will would always remember it.

"You're - "

"Cleopatra, yeah."

And so he was. A fluttering, black dress (which would be white on opening night) hung loose on his body. Around his neck and over his shoulders were costume pieces that looked like decorated armor. Each was solid but carved to look like feathers or coins stacked to form, all in gold. His head dress matched, framing his face and shifting his hair. It smoothed flat on top but poked out from under on the sides. (He'd been promised a wig, the costume department had yet to deliver.) Then there were his eyes. Lined in black, wings pointed and, despite his shaking hands, even. The blue of his irises was all the more striking. Hannibal would always remember it.

The silent staring turned Will bashful. "It's an all male production. I tried out for Anthony but," a shrug, "I'll take what I can get."

In a wordless request, Hannibal held out his hand. Will went, lacing their fingers together when he took it. The dress made it easy for him straddle Hannibal. He almost felt lost in the vast space around them, so much bigger than the cab. He found his anchor in a warm embrace.

"You're beautiful." Hannibal whispered, breathless, when they parted. The second half of his interrupted sentence. Will knew he meant it. The sureness, the sincerity made him feel raw to the touch. It made him ache. He couldn't stand it.

Will shed his armor, leaving it in pieces on the floor. Hannibal's clothes joined it, tossed haphazardly, left to wrinkle. The dress stayed on.

*

"What are you asking me, Hannibal?"

Will heard the harshness in his own voice and flinched. Fear made him mean, made him blunt, made him rude. It was the suddenness of it, the lack of exposition. The fact that he was holding a ring in a box in his hand that hadn't been there just a moment ago. Will had thought he and Hannibal were pretty in sync. It would appear he was wrong in the worst of ways.

"To let me provide for you. To let me take care of and support you. To let me love you."

His eyes brimmed with that look, _that expression_ , so blatantly hopeful. It was too much. It made Hannibal, calm collected distant Hannibal, look like something fragile. Like something that couldn't sustain. He would burn himself out, would hollow all too quickly. Will could practically see the end before his eyes. It brought back that ache, carving deeper.

"No." Will pressed the box back into the other man's hand. "No, that's . . . no."

"Will, I - "

"No." Will said again. He felt tears in his eyes, not of sadness but of frustration. Why couldn't he articulate? Why was he so paralyzed with this fear? Always the deer in headlights, the stag spooked by the smallest of sounds.

It was like watching the aftermath of a murder. Will sat, blood splattered and shocked, as Hannibal moved in slow motion. He watched him take the ring and walk bare-chested to the kitchen. Heard the sounds of a breakfast (which he didn't deserve) being made from a distance. Receding further into himself, he saw the table set. He saw Hannibal pulling on his clothes. (The thought of Hannibal doing the walk of shame might have been funny on a different day.)

It was the sound of a door shut that brought him back. Too late, wasn't he always too late? It echoed through the hours, followed him for days.

Breakfast, even with his sub-par ingredients, was the best thing he'd ever tasted. Slipped under his mess of a grocery list was reimbursement. Will laughed and shed a few more tears. _Ridiculous man._ And the box, with the ring Will knew would fit, that was just what he would've wanted, was left at the center of the table. Will didn't dare touch it, not until more time had passed. He thought it'd make it easier. He was wrong.

He cracked the box open like there might be a trigger inside, a bomb waiting to blow. Nothing but the simple silver band, gleaming like a blade. Hurting like a knife he'd turned in on himself.  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five years later, Will and Hannibal meet again. Seven years later, they end their affair.

Will remembered too late, the mud on his feet. He'd left footprints, mud stains pressed heavy into the cream colored carpet. Damage done, he didn't bother to stop.

Every window in the house was open. Their curtains billowed in the cool breeze. Rain splattered the wood floor, puddling beneath the sills. Smooth and slick, Will slipped more than once. It felt like a dream. The kind you had in the thickest of sleeps, where your legs won't work. Where you're trying to find someone but you can't manage it fast enough.

  
Light like honey split from where the study's door stood ajar. Hannibal's study. Will held his breath, body rigid in an attempt at stealth. He peeked through the crack.

"No, darling. I don't think you should come up. The weather's taken a turn . . . Yes, Florence in the spring sounds lovely. _The Wrath_ will have premiered by then . . . Yes, I'll be home before the week is out. Give Mischa a kiss for me. Tell her I love her . . . And I you, dear . . . Yes, goodnight."

Will hesitated, unsure if he wanted to enter. He shouldn't have hurried, shouldn't have listened. Still he did it every time.

"Did you manage to save the picnic?"

Like a child caught, Will stiffen then lowered his gaze. Hannibal still stood with his back to him. His hand lingered on the curve of the receiver. Will wondered if he wanted to call back. If he already missed the sound of her voice.

"I grabbed what I could." A lie.

So far out, in the shade of the biggest tree in the yard, the shrill cries of the phone still managed to be heard. The first two calls Hannibal ignored. The third had him making apologies, giving excuses. Running when she summoned. Will watched him go and tasted jealousy sour on his tongue.

There were things Will would not, could not accept. The reality of their situation, for one. And the soul responsibility for having caused it. There was no reason for him to fight with Hannibal. But he did, fiercely. In fits of petulance, he shouted, he broke things. He left their picnic in the rain, tracked mud into the house. He punished Hannibal because he couldn't bear the blame alone.

And he couldn't accept there would, inevitably, be an end. The rational half of him knew it was only a matter of time until Hannibal decided this was more trouble than it was worth. When it came down to it, Will wanted this to last. Damn the wife, damn the child. He would play the mistress if it meant having Hannibal around.

"We'll leave it to the weekend staff. The whole house is a mess, anyway."

Hannibal turned now and Will noticed how tired he looked in this light. Tired and disappointed. Like he was tracing back through the errors that had brought him to this moment. Like he regretted letting it come to this. Like Will wasn't enough.

"You're soaked through." Hannibal murmured, approaching. Taking Will's hands in his, he clasped them between warm palms. "And cold to the touch. A shower, I think. I'll join you."

"You don't have to." Will pulled his hands free and clutched them to his chest. "If you have more calls to make."

"Will."

That tone. Will knew it was the one he used when he sensed a fight. Will knew he should be fixing to pick one. But he couldn't do it, not tonight, not run ragged. He hung his head. Preemptive surrender. Defeat.

"No, I mean it. I know how you miss her. Your Mischa. Call back and wish her a goodnight yourself."

Hannibal was searching his face for the lie, the trap, the trick.

There was none. "I'll take that shower and meet you downstairs. Okay?"

"Okay . . . " He tensed, probably expecting Will to go off like a landmine he'd just triggered. No explosion came. No trap, no trick. Will was leaving.

Just as his hand fell to the knob, Hannibal caught him by the shoulder.

The kiss was gentle and slow. It woke that old ache in Will, the one that'd been burrowing into his chest for the past seven years.

"Thank you, darling."

Will managed a nod and even a small smile. It held until he was out of sight.

He didn't turn on the bathroom light, liking the grey of the room as it was. Through the skylight he could see the rolling clouds. He could feel the storm's electricity in the air.

Rain had bounced off the teacups, abandoned on their blanket beneath the tree. Will knew he'd broken one when he'd set off running. Crushed it underfoot in his scramble, only half on accident. The ground had turned soft before he made it halfway, catching his feet. Like a dream, like a nightmare. He could see the drying mud falling in chunks to the tiles he discarded his pants.

The water was too hot. He'd come out flushed and hurting. Hannibal would notice. And he would pull Will close and care for him. As he might a spouse, as he probably did his wife. It would soothe the clenching in Will's chest, ease the ache. If only just for the evening.

*

 _The Wrath_ , Oscar bait if there ever was. Every crewman, every member of the cast was chosen based on their experience and accolades. Every person except Will.

Five years since that little theater production of _Antony and Cleopatra_ , Will's career had taken off. Turned out a good number of talent scouts had been given tickets. Will got offers for films and television shows, all minor roles but roles none the less. He kept his job with the taxi company, just in case.

Then along came this movie, this _massive_ movie that no one doubted would become a classic. Will didn't pay it much mind, never one for tragic love. But then a call came which very much got his attention. He was offered the lead and he took it.

It wasn't until the script arrived that he understood his "good fortune". Nervous energy fizzing in his belly like soda and pop rocks, he broke the envelope's seal and out it slid. Black type clear on the stark white page, 

 _The Wrath of the Lamb_  
Written by  
Hannibal Lecter

They were coming down to the final scenes now. Will stood calm and collected at the center of the dark "room". Before him was a wall of glass and, beyond it, a man in a white jumpsuit. Will could feel the floor vibrating beneath them. It was a platform built at the center of a warehouse. On screen they would appear to be floating in a black abyss. Two men in a world of their own.

"Was it good . . . good? To see . . . Fuck, line?"

Everyone released a collective groan of frustration.

" _Me_ , Abel. _Was it good to see_ me?"

"Of course, sorry."

The director shifted where he sat, mumbling curses. Will kept his head down, still eager to please. He didn't hear the approaching footsteps or notice the heads they were turning.

"Lecter!" The director shouted through his bullhorn. "I thought you were coming down _next_ week!"

Will couldn't see more than his silhouette outside the spotlight's ring. But he could feel eyes on him, appraising him. And he could hear an low, familiar voice over the crew's murmurs.

"I couldn't help myself."

"Pity, we're not exactly at our best."

Everyone glared at Abel who was drunk and oblivious. He hiccuped and smiled to no one in particular.

"Ah, yes. I'd heard his drinking was becoming problematic again. I'd hate to have another rehab scandal on our hands but . . ."

"Can't be helped." The director waved a hand and Gideon was shooed from the stage. He was about halfway to the door before he dropped to his knees and vomited. Everyone ignored him.

"We can still get Will," the director was saying. "How do you feel about having tomorrow off, son?"

Will blinked. "I - I mean, sure?"

" _Yes_. You mean _yes_. You've got the one line for now. Say it, we'll take lunch and pick it up after."

Nerves tied Will's tongue and stomach into knots. Very seldom did he have a stage to himself. Always a partner to share the spotlight, to divide the attention. Without one now he wasn't sure he could do more than flonder.

"Let me step in for Abel." Hannibal said, already slipping off his blazer. "It's been a while since I've been hands on in one of my projects. I'd enjoy the novelty, if only briefly."

"Hell, Lecter. I'll have Price fetch you a jumpsuit and mask, too, if you'd like."

"Don't tempt me."

Will watched as Hannibal rounded the platform and took the steps two at a time. On the final one, he emerged into the light.

And he looked good. Healthy, handsome and not a day older than last Will had seen him. Searching for new lines, new wrinkles, Will saw none. 

"Ready you two?"

They nodded in sync. Hannibal changed his stance, assuming the character. Will fought the urge to squirm. Instead he tried his best to follow suit, straightening up and clearing his throat.

"ACTION!"

The sudden quiet, the absence of anything other than Hannibal, made the void feel real. Will felt them stranded in it. Separated only by the glass. He turned to leave, anticipating the words but was still shaken when they came.

"Was it good to see me?"

Will could picture Hannibal in that jumpsuit easily. Maybe a little paunch where it didn't quite fit. Somehow it suited him.

"Good?"

Dead silence in the beat he left between the words. In it he heard the click of a door.

"No."

*

Hannibal tried but he could not miss a third call. It would only arouse her suspicious. Even as he rose, he regretted it. Will would turn hateful. They would fight, as they did so often.

"No, darling. I don't think you should come up. The weather's taken a turn . . . Yes, Florence in the spring sounds lovely. . ." Mischa's voice whined in the background of on his wife's end. Will creaked up the stairs on his. Things would only be worse if he overheard the conversation. Hannibal tried to hurry a goodbye. But Will was at the door now, listening.

"Yes, I'll be home before the week is out. Give Mischa a kiss for me. Tell her I love her . . . And I you, dear . . . Yes, goodnight."

He hung up but his hand linger on the phone. He could call her back, tell her he wouldn't be coming home at all. He could whisk Will away, they could leave. He had connections. Will would thrive in Europe. There was a place there, a life waiting. Together.

But Hannibal didn't know if that was what Will wanted. He'd offered love, matrimony, and monogamy before. He couldn't bear that rejection again, couldn't bear to end up with nothing. He wouldn't play the wounded, love sick fool a second time.

"Did you manage to save the picnic?"

It struck him how young Will looked like this, how beautiful. In the dim lamp light Hannibal could almost imagine his dark lashes were coal wings. His Cleopatra, the love of his life. Had they truly missed it? There was time still, wasn't there? Because if not Hannibal couldn't help but feel their standing here was the result of the greatest error in judgement he'd ever made. He shouldn't have left, he shouldn't have proposed. He should have contained himself and he should have recognized what it was he had to lose. Had they truly missed it? Because if they had, Hannibal was so _disappointed_. A year long introduction and an affair he'd gladly have over his marriage. An affair with a man he'd leave that marriage and his child and his career for. A man looking at him now with such sadness, such loathing.

Will stepped forward. _Beautiful_ , Hannibal thought again. He looked _beautiful_. Soaking wet, pants muddied and skin flushed. His chest heaved from the run, eyes glassy.

"I grabbed what I could."

A lie. Hannibal knew it.

All in keeping with Will's childish antics, his maddened mistress rebellion. And for the umpteenth time Hannibal found himself reacting differently than he would to anyone else. Because he couldn't help but feel that he deserved this, Will's wrath. It was him that had made the mistake, the miscalculation that he led them down this road. It was him that went too far in an effort to forget. Uncharacteristic carelessness bred from overwhelmed instincts. And he would bear these barbs for a lifetime if it meant keeping Will around. There was no doubt in Hannibal's mind that the boy would leave him soon, to start a family of his own, perhaps. To see the world and to climb any ladder he might choose. And Hannibal would be left an old man, discontented and aching and full of regret.

"We'll leave it to the weekend staff. The whole house is a mess, anyway."

Hannibal approached.

"You're soaked through." He took Will's hands in his. "And cold to the touch. A shower, I think. I'll join you."

"You don't have to." Will pulled his hands free and clutched them to his chest. The rejection echoed at Hannibal's center. "If you have more calls to make."

"Will,"  _tell me what it is you want because I don't know. I don't._ Fitting that Will was the only man who could see him so clearly while Hannibal couldn't seem to see him at all.

"No, I mean it. I know how you miss her. Your Mischa. Call back and wish her a goodnight yourself." 

Hannibal searched his face for the lie, the trap, the trick. Dangerous territory, this. _Tell me, Will. Tell me._

"I'll take that shower and meet you downstairs. Okay?"

"Okay . . . " And he tensed, praying that Will would change his mind. That he would pitch a fit and show that he cared. Because if nothing else that's what Hannibal got from his fury. An emotional response, a reassurance this wasn't one sided. It was as close as Will came to saying _I love you_. And this concession was the closest he would come to saying _goodbye_.

Will retreated. No final words, no fight. He just retraced his muddy tracks back to the door. And Hannibal felt as if someone had shattered him, as if his chest had been struck through and the thin crust of his being was crumbling to dust. He stumbled forward, trying to swallow his desperation lest it scare Will off.

The kiss was gentle and slow. It hurt like another twist of the knife. But Hannibal bore it, he was strong. This would be their last time together, wouldn't it? This was it, this was all he got. And the fact that Will kissed him back so sweetly, as if he were still yearning for it only deepened the blow.

"Thank you, darling."

Will smiled and left. And Hannibal smoothed his mask, fit it back into place. A few tears slipped past it and he cursed each one. A few more, and a few more still. He cried until he heard the shower door open and the bedroom door shut. Will would be expecting him downstairs. Hannibal wouldn't leave him waiting.

*

Will lay, sated, on the small cot of his trailer. He closed his eyes as Hannibal shifted beside him. It felt like they were back in his tiny apartment, like the past five years hadn't happened. A pocket of time for just the two of them, a moment made infinite.

"The roses."

"Hmm?" Hannibal hummed into the crook of his neck.

"You sent the roses on opening night. For _Antony and Cleopatra_."

"Yes. Cliche but I thought anything else might throw you."

"I didn't see you in the crowd." Will reached for his cigarettes. " _Not_ that I was looking."

A breathy chuckle. "I chose a seat in the back. I didn't want you to tell me to leave."

"I wouldn't have." He tried his lighter four times before a little flame flickered to life. "You disappeared on me. I wanted to talk to you. I waited for you to call but - "

Hannibal kissed him, inhaling the smoke of his sigh. "Do you still have it?"

The ring. "Yes."

It was sitting on his bedside table at home. There had been a time when he couldn't look at it. The box was tucked away in his knickknack drawer and almost forgotten. Time passed and Will stumbled across when he was packing up to move. He wouldn't tell Hannibal but for almost a year he'd worn it. A year he'd slipped it on and left it, giving ambiguous answers to prying strangers. Not a _yes_ , not a _no._  Playing pretend.

Hannibal kissed him again, making a strangled sound. It touched Will at his core, it woke the ache. They merged for moment, enveloping each other. Will's back met the cool wall of trailer. It jarred him, feeling wrong. He turned in Hannibal's embrace, breaking them apart. The other man looked pained at the sudden denial.

"You know what else I still have?" His tone soothing. He put the almost-forgotten cigarette to Hannibal's lips. "That black dress."

Hannibal's eyes went dark.

They agreed to take Hannibal's car. Neither wanted to part for long, they made a clumsy eight limbed creature as they went. Through the buildings they stumbled, someone in the distance practicing lines at top volume, _The stroke of death is as a lover's pinch! Which hurts and is desired!_ By the time they reach the Bentley they were weak at the knees and joined at the lips. Hannibal tried to keep them together while pulling open the car's backdoor. When he managed it Will fell down onto the seat. Hannibal followed, settling between his parted thighs. A hand gripped Will's belt and he groaned and -

_Squeak_

Will started to turn, to seek out what had made the noise but Hannibal wouldn't let him. He forced a hand down Will's pants, ignoring the tight belt. It was uncomfortable and very unlike Hannibal but as a hand wrapped around him Will he couldn't be bothered. His head fell back as -

_Squeak_

"Stop. _Stop._ " Will pressed a hand to Hannibal's chest, moving him to arm's length. He reached his free arm behind his head and felt something fuzzy.

A stag, stuffed and feathered. Clenching his fist, Will made it squeak again. Slowly he pushed himself up to sitting. The floor was littered with toys; a red dragon, a cute dog, an ugly pig.

Hannibal waited, still hovered over him with a blank expression. _Squeak_ , he could see Will's realization sinking in. The final nail in the coffin the a tube of lipstick left on the front passenger seat.

Five years, Will could hardly blame him. 

So he dropped the stag to the floor and wrapped an arm around Hannibal's neck. Their lips collided and they continued. Hannibal's heart was pounding, blood rushing in his ears and fear that he was not accustomed to slowly ebbing away. Will's mind was racing and he was hurting. This wasn't how he'd imagined it, this wasn't how he'd wanted it to be. But it was his fault, and these were his consequences.

*

They didn't make it to bed that night. Will fell asleep curled into Hannibal's side on the sofa. He wore a white bathrobe and gently Hannibal pulled it down his shoulder to look at the reddened skin. It hurt now but by morning he wouldn't feel a thing. Wouldn't even remember the sting.

Will had asked him to read to him. He lasted only a few pages before falling asleep. But every time Hannibal stopped he'd stir and scold him with groggy, slurred words. So Hannibal read on, low and calm to the rhythm of Will's slow breathing.

All the windows were closed now, the puddles drying. Traces of Will's entrace remained, his tracks in the carpet now hardened and crusted.

Hannibal was leaving in the morning. He'd made the call, prepared the cars. He'd have a two hour head start, would be gone before Will woke. Will would be dropped off at his apartment. Hannibal would not come calling again. He would not pursue him, not when his affections were so unwanted.

"You stopped." Will murmured.

He had. He was staring at the footprints. He was holding Will too tight.

"I'm sorry, my love." He pressed a kiss to his curls and continued. 

" _Shall we not meet again?_ "

Will's body slumped beside him.

" _Shall we not spend our immortal life together? Surely, surely we have ransomed one another, with all this woe._ "

Outside, the rain had passed. Still droplets bowed the leaves of that great, far out tree, falling in their own small storm. They dripped from the broken teacup, shattered and ruined. There would be no fixing it. It would not come together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quotes are from _Antony and Cleopatra_ and _The Scarlet Letter_.


End file.
